


Boom Boom Pow

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Awkward First Times, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Sex, Biting, Bruises, Butt Slapping, Clumsiness, FFXV Brotherhood, Face Slapping, Good Sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Processing Trauma, Promnis Day, Scratching, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Prompto is going to bring Ignis' happiness back into the present tense if it kills him.After Altissia and Gralea it's not easy for their relationship to return to normal, but Prompto has determination on his side.





	Boom Boom Pow

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of an FFA drabble series.
> 
> No one told me it was Promnis Day! This is my late contribution...

Prompto's not surprised he's terrible at sex, but he feels super sorry for Iggy, who gamely puts up with his multiple fails. They were foredoomed right from a first kiss where Prompto startled and bit down hard on Ignis' tongue when it ventured inside his mouth; there'd been blood, and it was all downhill from there.

He falls onto Ignis while making out, and rips out a handful of Ignis' hair the first time Ignis goes down on him, to his horrified shame (and then comes in his mouth without warning, making him choke and cough come up his nose).

Their three attempts at anal before succeeding are unspeakably bad. When Prompto finally gets his dick in, he's so overwhelmed that he leaves livid hickeys all over Ignis' chest and shoulders. He forgets the condom; Ignis says not to worry as it's both their first times, but Prompto can't help wondering what else he'll do wrong.

Next morning in the shower, he slips during mutual jacking-off and bashes Ignis in the nose with his forehead.

Ignis is still bleeding at breakfast.

"I'm a terrible boyfriend," Prompto says, rubbing Ignis' arm in apology.

"I like you," Ignis contradicts, all stuffed up.

But Prompto never feels like he improves. They try all kinds of positions; Ignis always ends up bruised. In the heat of the moment, Prompto doesn't want to slow down or take care. His clumsiness is enthusiasm, and Ignis always goes wild, it's just... what kind of person pins their partner down by the neck so they can't struggle free?

"Are you disappointed we have bad sex?" he asks idly, fingering a new band-aid on Ignis' hand.

Ignis stiffens, like he wants to yank himself away. "I thought," he says, the words slow and deliberate, "we had very _good_ sex."

Like a filter's been dropped over his thoughts, suddenly Prompto's seeing their whole relationship in a new way, and he's wide-eyed and breathless, amazed.

Ignis, on the other hand, looks crushed, far worse than any time Prompto's smacked him. "My deepest apologies," he says. "I assumed – "

Prompto starts talking over him – "You _wanted_ me to – " but can't finish for the misery on Ignis' face. "Dude. You should have _said_. I thought you were putting up with my clumsy ass, not – " _getting off on it_,the thought pops into his head, and once he imagines it, he can't stop.

He pictures bruises blooming dark on Ignis' skin, Ignis flicking his tongue out to catch a thread of blood, the way Ignis snarls and struggles in bed (but never hits back or actually escapes); how incredibly hot he is, especially if Prompto doesn't need to drag himself feeling guilty afterward. If he'd only _known_, he'd have been leaving bitemarks all over, always, so everyone would know Ignis was his.

_Unf_. Yeah, he's really into this, apparently.

"I don't know how," Ignis confesses, eyes down, voice sullen and shamed. "This is all new. How does one ask for such a... perversity?"

Prompto winces. "It's not bad, I didn't mean – look, do we have to discuss it? Can't I just throw you on the bed and slap you and – oh, hey – do you have a shirt I can rip off? For science," he adds. "We should try _everything_."

"This shirt," Ignis says, a challenge. It's new; Prompto loves the way it brings out Ignis' green eyes. 

He loves how the fabric shreds and the buttons pop off, too, and uses the sleeves to pin Ignis' arms. He bites his nipples, feels his dick harden with desire. It's better than good; they're _perfect_.

* * *

Ignis sleeps more than Noct usually does in the weeks after he's hurt. Gladio says he's healing. Prompto worries and can't help maybe acting more like a nurse than a boyfriend. Iggy's _blind_ and needs to relearn how to fricking _eat_. Their sex life can take a backseat, right?

But then Ardyn makes Prompto his plaything, and after that Prompto's fucked up. He flinches away from touch. He hates undressing. Even after the bruises and manacles are gone, he knows they're there.

When they're safely back in Lestallum, he makes himself sleep with Ignis, though, which probably is a mistake.

Ignis is more passive in bed, like he's trying to follow Prompto's cues and not startle or upset him. Prompto tries to be gentle in turn; lots of handjobs and blowjobs that end up having a hollow, dull quality to them, like _job_-jobs. It's sex but not sexy and he tries not to touch Ignis in his sleep afterward.

One morning he wakes up in bed alone – again – and when he goes into the front room hoping for breakfast, he sees toast and coffee and a packed bag and Ignis, all dressed and dark glasses on.

"Have some coffee," Ignis says. "It's the last I have." Prompto's feet have frozen to the floor, and after a moment Ignis sucks in a breath and says, "We both know this isn't working any more."

"I don't know _why_," Prompto says – shouts, maybe. Ignis winces. "I love you. I'm trying. And fuck me _sideways_ if Ardyn breaks us, too."

"Did he rape you?" Ignis asks, with the same fake casual tone he uses when he asks if the sun rose.

Prompto stares, wondering how long that horror's been percolating in Iggy's brain. "Nope. Dude's more into mindfuckery. Pretending to be Noct. Saying shit."

"I'm so sorry," Ignis says, and he looks genuinely regretful. It's the first time, Prompto realizes, that they've talked about Gralea. Avoidance is good, because if you don't talk about stuff it can get buried like it never happened. But bad, because one day you wake up and your sex life sucks and your boyfriend is moving out. But then Ignis says in the same light, dispassionate way, "Is it the scars, then?"

It's way the fuck too early to fill out whatever diagnostic checklist Iggy's got in his head, and their relationship's not a car with a weird knocking sound in the engine that can be fixed by replacing a fanbelt. He makes himself move, grabs a cup of coffee and sits down, takes Ignis' hand in his and rubs his thumb over the back as he sips. Avoids touching the red burn mark from ring, though.

"Not the scars or my tattoo or – look. Look," he repeats with emphasis, shutting up whatever wiseass thing Iggy's opened his mouth to say. "I like getting rough in bed, with you. Okay? One more thing we don't really talk about, cause it's just... good. Fun. Except for that time with the tape, that sucked. I've been smacking you around since I was sixteen. Five years," he realizes out loud. "Damn. We should be having an anniversary, not... this."

"Five years," Ignis echoes, like he had no idea. Time flies, right? "But yet you touch me like we're strangers."

"I'm trying to be gentle and caring!"

"Because I'm weak?" Ignis whips out, fast and angry. "Crippled? I _never_ asked for gentle," he spits out, and wow, Prompto hasn't had Ignis' formidable temper turned on him since, huh, probably that time with the car. Or the other time with the car. "I was _happy_."

That's a jab right in the guts. Courtesy Ardyn, who had no right to beat the crap out of Ignis even after he bargained with the Lucian kings to give them everything to save Noct. Ardyn who probably left Ignis alive because he thought it was funnier that way, to not give Noct a corpse to mourn but a beloved friend who was also a living reminder of his failing as King. And who strung Prompto up on a rack that he'd have loved to manacle Ignis to, if they were in the kind of specialist clubs in Insomnia that he'd sneakily researched online.

Prompto is going to bring Ignis' happiness back into the present tense if it kills him.

"Okay, so," Prompto starts, and taps the back of Ignis' hand as he thinks. "We're going to talk about this. Don't make me have to tie you down and sit on you." Ignis makes a small huff of amusement, and Prompto grins. "That's still on the table, huh." He waggles his eyebrows before he remembers.

But Ignis knows his sense of humor and his quirks far too well; well enough to know he missed something. He can hear a smile, but he's aware – all the time, not just with Prompto – of all the visual information that's gone and never coming back. He rubs at his temple like he's warding off a headache and then says, "I didn't see what Ardyn did to you, and I wanted to, because even now I don't understand. It… killed me to know you were hurt and all I could do was sit quietly like it _didn't bloody matter_ and try not to get in the way because I am, no matter how you dress it, useless."

Prompto remembers finally fighting his way through the wreckage of Altissia, and then finding the two bodies at the altar. Gladio had told him to carry Noct, and they were halfway to the hotel before Prompto scraped together the nerve to ask Gladio if Ignis was even alive.

He didn't get a look at his face until Gladio stretched Ignis out on a bed, and that was only one terrible glimpse before he was sent off to find a doctor. And then he just waited until Ignis woke up, to find out if he could see...

"So we tell Noct and Gladio about us," Prompto suggests, shaking off bad memories. "Noct's the king, he can change the rules when he gets back. If they even matter these days. The sun stopped rising, who even gives a damn if a couple of daemon-slayers are together?" Ignis doesn't dismiss the idea immediately, and Prompto laces their fingers together, feeling hope bubble up in him. "Five years. We can get matching tattoos, have a party, even. Gladio probably won't be a dick," he adds. Maybe if he says it it'll come true.

"Do you want a tattoo?" Ignis asks.

For a moment Prompto is supremely irked – way to focus on the throwaway example and not the bigger picture – but Ignis' thumb strays to his wrist and then retreats, and he remembers that Ignis has never seen the barcode there. He'd always respected Prompto's need to cover it up. "I want my name on you," he blurts out. "Like. Permanent."

"Perhaps later," Ignis says, but _shit_ he's thinking about it. And Prompto can't tell if he's turned on from his eyes any more, but Ignis has other tells. The way he shifts in his chair, almost naturally. The way he leans closer, just a bit.

Suddenly, Prompto needs to be somewhere where he can't see the packed bag sitting next to the door with Iggy's polished shoes lined up next to it.

"Finish your coffee," he says, voice way too low. "Then come with me."

The look Ignis gives him is questioning, but he picks up his mug anyway. It kind of kills Prompto that Ignis isn't savoring what might be his last coffee ever, but he's on a mission.

Objective one is getting naked, which Ignis complies with readily as soon as they're in the bedroom. It kind of makes Prompto's heart break, because just how sad and mixed-up inside had Ignis been that he felt he had to leave? He didn't know how to ask for help, but now that Prompto's offering, he'll do anything, no matter how weird, just for a scrap of hope.

"Okay, so," Prompto says. "I'm going to show you what I looked like when you guys rescued me, at least what I remember. Arms up." Ignis gets his hands in totally the wrong position; Prompto corrects him, and sees the moment Ignis figures out how the rack had worked, how Prompto had been strung up and left hanging. Prompto trails his fingers over Ignis' skin like he's drawing diagrams, pointing out where each of his bruises and cuts had been. Though: "I think that asshole hit me up with a potion or something, because falling off the train fucked me up for sure."

The admission makes him shiver a little, and he presses both his hands to Ignis' chest to ground himself. He doesn't hate the stuff he knows happened when he was awake half as much as he gets the screaming heebie-jeebies imagining hands all over him when he was unconscious.

"He changed my clothes," he adds, and it sounds so stupid, compared to all the other horrors Ardyn's responsible for.

Ignis' eye narrows, though, and Prompto sees his jaw tense. "We really need to figure out how to kill him," he murmurs after a moment.

So murderous, so romantic. Prompto pops up on his toes to kiss him, and Ignis leans into it but doesn't lower his arms. Prompto slides his hands up and pinches both of Ignis' nipples in warning before twisting them, letting his thumbnails catch and scrape. Like he's being careless when actually it's the opposite.

He pulls back with a nip at Ignis' lower lip, where it's scarred. He can feel the raised line of the scar, and he wants to suck at it, make it his the way the rest of Ignis is. Possibly that's creepy. He should probably ask.

Instead, though, he gives the nipples a fond little farewell squeeze that makes Ignis suck in air through his nose, and then lets them go. "You think you could hold position like this while you got my name put on your ass?"

"Is that what you want?" Ignis asks. His dick's half hard and Prompto can see a bead of precome shining there already, but that's not going to get in the way of him teasing Prompto. He's got iron discipline; he'd probably hold his arms up until they fell off if he was asked.

Prompto knows just how bad the strain is, but he appreciates the demonstration. "Right here," he says, moving to stand behind Ignis, who turns his head just a bit, just enough to track him. Prompto uses his fingernail to scrawls his signature across both cheeks, letters big and sloppy.

"Subtle."

"Right?" Prompto can almost see it there for real. "So I'd come home and be like," he slaps Ignis as hard as he can, open hand making a sharp crack that has Ignis tense like he's been doused with ice water, "hey babe, what's this say?"

There's a handprint clearly visible, hot and red, like Ignis got groped by the Infernian, but he sounds entirely calm when he asks, "Why am I not wearing pants in your scenario?"

Prompto slaps the other side, for being a smartass. "You never wear pants in my scenarios. For easy access." He slides his hand into Ignis' hair and pulls his head back enough that he can stick a few fingers in his mouth. Ignis wets them obediently; this is nothing new. So what if he can't see what's coming? He _knows_, he's already shifting, spreading his legs. "Like this," Prompto says, and slides his spit-slick fingers right across Iggy's hole before pushing his thumb inside. "Pants would ruin the moment."

"Ah," Ignis says, trying for dry, but coming out shaky and breathy. Like porn.

Prompto twists his thumb, pulls it out, replaces it with two fingers. He leans in and kisses the back of Ignis' shoulder. He can feel a fine tremor just under his skin as he twists his fingers slowly, and it's humbling and it makes him feel powerful, both at once. Drunk with power. And also accidentally rubbing his hard-on against Ignis' ass. Oops.

"I'm going to fuck you up," he says, very softly, mouth moving against Ignis' skin.

Ignis huffs, amused. "As if you could."

Prompto nips at him; the angle's wrong, but his teeth scrape satisfyingly over the shoulder bone. "Shut up and go get on the bed."

Ignis lowers his arms, rolling his wrists to try and work out the stiffness, and his expression cracks for a fleeting second, insecurity washing over lust, as if he'd been unpleasantly recalled to reality. Like he maybe isn't sure, with all the distraction, where the bed _is_.

Never let it be said that Prompto will not leap on any opportunity to lead a gorgeous man around by the dick. Ignis doesn't exactly yelp, but he does stumble when Prompto grabs him (too hard, maybe? sorry, man) before allowing himself to be pulled across the room, like he's been infected with Prompto's clumsiness.

The bed's in the same disarray Prompto left it in, no sharp or breakable objects lurking, so Prompto lets himself tumble backwards when his knees hit the mattress, and Ignis has no choice but to follow. Move it or lose it, and Prompto's glad Ignis makes the right choice there.

He ends up with Ignis sprawled over him in kind of a tangle, hands braced on either side of his head, one knee on the bed between Prompto's own and the other leg... off somewhere to the side. "Kiss me," Prompto says, while Ignis shifts into a more comfortable position. He's got his hands on Iggy's ass, providing helpful assistance with fingernails for _move_ and slaps for _stop_, and the kiss he gets is distracted and sloppy, with Ignis sliding one hand into his hair and not trying very hard to avoid Prompto's sharp teeth.

"Do the scars hurt?" Prompto asks. He's back to teasing Ignis' hole, even though the angle sucks; they haven't done this in way too long – since that crappy motel shower months ago – and he's keyed up like it's his first time all over again.

"The cuts pull," Ignis answers after a moment. He's spread nice and wide, and there's a feline roll to how he's starting to fuck himself on Prompto's fingers, starting in his shoulders, arching his spine. "The burns are just... numb. Dead."

"So I can still do this," Prompto bites Ignis' lower lip for him, making him pant, a whine catching in his throat, "yeah, looks like. You should ride me."

"Should I?"

It's maybe kind of pathetic how much Prompto has missed the teasing and the backtalk and way Ignis push-push-pushes until he gets what he wants. Which in this case is a sharp slap across the cheek that snaps his head to the side and then a backhand on the other cheek (Prompto has a thing for symmetry), making Ignis clench down around Prompto's fingers with another sinuous roll. A challenging smirk blooms on his pretty scarred mouth.

Prompto wants to be in him ten minutes ago, and Ignis _knows_. "Let me up, we need lube."

Ignis grabs another kiss before sitting back, oh-so-accidentally _right on top_ of Prompto's dick, like it's his mission in life to make him incapable of thinking about anything but fucking.

Side table. Right. Box of random crap: chargers, eye drops, pen, hand towel, _there_ the lube is, way down at the bottom. But Prompto's not going to think about how sad that is, a metaphor for fail, he's just going to drop the tube into the hand Ignis has stuck out impatiently in his direction.

They've both kind of got something to prove aside from basic desperate horniness, and Prompto feels a twinge of unease as Ignis slicks him up and lowers himself down. It's hot and perfect and he wants it, but something's still being done to him that he doesn't have one hundred percent control over and... yeah.

He can see very clearly the moment Ignis realizes. He stills, with the head of Prompto's dick just inside him, his chest and neck already glowing with that light sheen of sweat he gets, and he looks at Prompto, trying to meet his eyes, like that'd do any good.

Ignis opens his mouth, and right down in his bones Prompto understands and shares his hatred of _gentle_; if Ignis says anything right now to break the sweet fucking mood they have here, Prompto will either scream or cry.

"It's a lot to take in," he says, faking smug confidence until he can own it. "You can tell me how impressed you are, I can handle it."

"Handle this," Ignis snaps, and drops down, taking nearly half Prompto's length in at one go.

They're both left breathless, and Prompto grabs Ignis' hands, lacing their fingers together tight and squeezing, like he's trying to work through Ignis' pain for him.

"You're so pretty," Prompto pants, dazzled, brain offline. "How did I get so lucky?"

The grin Ignis gives him is predatory, and he rolls his hips, making Prompto's vision light up with little sparks. He's always loved how hella flexible Ignis is, and his stamina, his everything, and even though his vocabulary has been sabotaged by lust (_pretty lucky_, wtf?) he tries to tell Ignis that, even while he's tugging him down, down, down.

Ignis' hair is sweat-damp by the time he bottoms out, and he leans his head back, exposing his throat, chest rising with deep disciplined breaths. Prompto lets go of his hands and makes a beeline for the nipples. He forgets Ignis can't see until he's tugging on both of them, and Ignis gives a very undignified yelp, curling forward with quick protective instinct, his ass clenching down so hard Prompto worries for a second that he made him come.

"A little warning, perhaps," Ignis bites out, jaw tight, and the apology on the tip of Prompto's tongue is replaced by laughter. The only thing better than a sex god is an indignant sex god who you're currently fucking.

"Yeah, right," Prompto replies when he can. "You can – " he scrapes his thumbnails over the trapped tips of each nipple "– take it."

Ignis shuts him up by sticking a finger in his mouth, which Prompto's fine with sucking on (a not-so-subtle reminder that he's ignoring Iggy's dick), and does some hellish combination of grinding and gyrating that's straight out of the best porn. Prompto can practically hear the cranked-up bass on the soundtrack; no wait, that's his heart, about to _explode_.

He bites down on Ignis' fingers and shoves them out with his tongue. "I want you on all fours."

When they'd been young, dumb, and competitive, they had a no-pulling-out challenge when changing positions. Kind of like penetrative twister, in a way, and the thrill wore off after the tenth (twentieth?) tumble off the bed in Ignis' apartment. But Ignis gets a calculating look, sitting back with his hands on Prompto's hips, and then Prompto's being dragged around and repositioned. It's a freaking headtrip – and a turn on – to have the sudden reminder of just how strong Ignis is. Prompto does have to execute a quick save to keep them from the perilous edge of the mattress, and might kind of elbowed Iggy in the face in doing so, but Ignis flashes him the V-for-victory like the absolute nerd he is. They're still successfully joined together.

Metaphors, metaphors, metaphors, Prompto can't deal. He just really wants to fuck Ignis into the mattress. So he does. Go hard or go home, and home's not an option anymore. But he's not thinking about that, he's busy being in love with Ignis' broad back, pale from never seeing the sun and dotted with constellations of moles. Which Ignis says aren't any cooler or better than freckles. (Ignis use to say he liked freckles better.) Ignis arches and shifts, pushing back to meet every thrust, and Prompto can tell when he gets the right angle because Ignis' elbows start to give out, and he makes the most adorable noise.

Prompto knows that a few well-timed smacks will keep Ignis right there, something about the sharp sudden pain and the clenching and maybe even the sound, bringing back memories of whatever porn Ignis imprinted on as a kid. And it works for him, too. Until he can get his name scrawled on permanently, the next best thing is making sure Ignis remembers him every time he sits down. For like a week.

By the time Ignis is pretty continually vocal, not holding back at all, both Prompto's palms are stinging and Ignis' arms have collapsed entirely. Prompto leans over his back, trailing kisses wherever he can until he reaches Ignis' shoulder and Ignis twists around. The angle's terrible for kissing but Ignis moaning right into his mouth is delicious, and Prompto slides a hand around his waist. Ignis jerks involuntarily when Prompto curls his fingers around his dick, like he doesn't know what he wants, to pull away or to press into the touch, but that's fine. He'll get both anyway.

Prompto lifts up again, his other hand gripping Ignis' hip for balance, and starts going all-out for the finish line, hips pistoning, and every thrust drives Ignis' dick forward into his fist. Ignis is far enough gone that he's slow to brace himself, hands grabbing at the sheets while his body becomes liquid, pliant, unresisting. Just a bit more, Prompto thinks, because he _knows_ all Ignis' tells, knows he's on the edge and just needs one... good... push – 

right over the edge.

The hand Ignis drags over to muffle his shout is too late and not enough anyway; he comes hard and Prompto fucks him through it, dragging the spasms on and on until Ignis is sweat-drenched and shaking with over-stimulation. Then Prompto hauls up on Ignis' shoulders, making him sit up, right in his lap, legs framing Prompto's and still impaled by his dick. Prompto's desperation makes him sloppy, wild and careless with teeth and hands and nails as Ignis lifts up, lowers himself down, whimpering against pleasure that's pain, now, and _fuck_ he's beautiful. Prompto thrusts up, yanks him down, and spills as deep inside him as possible, the world around him lighting up in colors and fireworks, electricity and flame dancing in his blood, fingers and toes curling like he has any hope of hanging on to this moment.

When he floats back down he's got his hands wrapped possessively around Ignis' trembling thighs and he's babbling into the back of his shoulder; Ignis has one hand curled into his hair, cupping the side of his head, anchoring him.

"Back with me?" Ignis asks, voice colored with amusement.

Prompto makes a disgruntled noise. That's all he's up for. He's been deboned and possibly debrained; he can feel his heartbeat echoed in the throb of his softening dick, still inside Ignis. Maybe he'll just stay like this for the rest of the day.

"Excellent," Ignis says, cheerful and loving and absolutely ruthless. He gets up and out of bed as effortlessly as if he'd just had eight hours of sleep, and stretches his arms up with a glorious lack of selfconsciousness. At least until Prompto spots a trickle of come start to slide out, making Ignis announce that they're due for a shower.

Prompto should have asked if Ignis wanted to use a condom, he recalls now. They usually do, because Ignis likes being messed up in many ways but definitely not in others. But he's a grown up and is perfectly capable of making his own demands, which means, Prompto supposes as he gets out of bed with supreme lack of grace, Ignis wanted this.

He kisses him a lot: going to the shower, getting dressed, over their cold toast breakfast. When Ignis forgets and sits down normally. When Prompto gets him a cold wet towel to press over his cheek, right under the scar, where a dark bruise is clearly visible. (The other bruises and scratches and bitemarks are all hidden away, for Prompto's eyes only.)

"We could tell Gladio today," Prompto says when they're doing the washing up. Or rather, while he's rinsing the plates and Ignis is helping out by finishing up the last half of Prompto's coffee. _I don't like it cold_, Prompto had lied, _and it'd be a waste to toss it._ "Wouldn't that be easier than telling him you walked into something, and then having to deal with him setting your training schedule back because he's terrified you'll knife yourself in the face?"

Ignis pokes at his bruise clinically. Prompto goes and gets the towel from where it's been abandoned, wets it again, and slaps it back into place for Ignis to hold there.

"I don't want to tell him about... what we do," Ignis says.

Prompto figures someday they'll find the right words for it, but he's good for today. "If you think he won't believe I'm capable of accidentally kneeing you in the face during sex, then the Gladio you know is way different from the guy I know."

Ignis smirks over the rim of the mug before tipping it back. Prompto watches the poetry of his throat as he swallows and has to clench his teeth to keep from asking if he's happy; he's superstitiously afraid of jinxing himself. He's pretty sure they're still going to haunted by the past, but they're not _broken_. Not weak. So long as they stick together, they can get over anything.

Ignis crosses to set the empty mug down in the sink and reaches out to find Prompto's arm, using that as a guide so he can wrap his arms around him in a hug. It's unexpected and sweet, and Prompto's returning it before his brain can even suggest flinching away.

He tells his brain to go take a hike, and soaks up all the comfort and love he can.


End file.
